The battle between Gintaro and the Orochi continued to rage under the mountain of Oboroshi. Gintaro had removed five heads and six tails but had sustained multiple wounds to his body. In particular, the acidic blood of the Orochi had corroded much of the Tengu armor, so that it began to waste away. As a result, the power that he inherited from it weakened, and he could not use it effectively from that time on.

  Both were beyond pain, beyond exhaustion, and fought on in a kind of strange trance, one that would inevitably come to an end. The Orochi retracted and then charged with its remaining heads and swung with its viable tails. Gintaro swirled and slashed, striking when he could. Time was of no concern, and each existed only within the moment, as the encroaching risk of death became the only thing moving them forward.

  In the midst of the battle, the Orochi halted its attack suddenly, as even the mighty yomi had grown weary of the struggle.

  Easing its bulk, the voice reentered Gintaro’s mind as he struggled to remain standing. He leaned for a moment on his two swords, which supported him like crutches.

  “I have now come to regret my insatiable wrath. For in my malice, I swallowed your forerunner, the noble but foolhardy Chisatsu, and with him the sword you seek. I might have now rewarded you with the famous blade, for you have given me the fight I have sought for many long years. I have contended with many brave warriors, and some have even caused me hurt, but never have I been so hard pressed. I commend you, Gintaro. Now, hear my offer, and listen well, for never has such a thing been done before. I shall permit you, Gintaro, to leave my presence alive. Thou shalt even take one of my severed heads, as proof of your brave deeds before men. Go now, and you shall be famous, and your name will endure long among men.”

  Gintaro was so tired that he could hardly bring himself to speak, but he forced out these words, “I have no real enmity with you, O’ Mighty One. Yet it is our fate that we must do battle here and now. For, as you know, I cannot leave this place without the Emperor’s Sword, unless by death alone.”

  The Orochi seemed to let out something that sounded like a grim sigh. “Then you are resigned to finish this? If you die now, no one shall ever know of thy valiance, except myself. Yet I shall not sing thy praises, for I am the mighty Eightfold Orochi, created to be the caretaker of the Garden before the world was sundered. Even the mighty Akuma heard my name and trembled at my coming. Is this your final say?”

  Gintaro forced himself from his swords and lifted them once again.

  “Very well,” the Orochi answered, and his voice seemed somber and heavy. “Ready thyself, for this shall be thy end, or mine.”

  Then the rumble under Oboroshi began once again. Many songs were thereafter told of the slaying of the Orochi by Gintaro. Some said he had cleverly found a weakness of the monster and destroyed him outright. Others say that the blood from the Orochi filled the pit, and the mighty yomi drowned itself. The truth was that Gintaro simply fought like a man lit aflame, burning with sorrow and worry for his far-off child. He hewed every head and severed every tail until the great yomi breathed its last.

  The Orochi had been forthcoming at the end and spoke its true heart as it faced the brutality of Gintaro’s swords. However, it had not told of the words spoken long ago by the Bloodslayer himself, as he was betrayed and swallowed up by the monster.

  In his last breath, the Chisatsu had uttered a doom for the Orochi, one that gnawed away at the beast until its final moment.

  “For having no love for either man or yomi, and taking no side, the Akuma jailed thou in this place for years untold. But by betraying me, thou hast spurned the Shinjin’s and his heirs, and doing so comes with a heavy doom. Though you boast in thy eightfold heads, eightfold shall your sufferings be. For one day you shall surely die by the hand of one like me, and until then you shall wait for that day tediously.”

  Therefore, the words of the Chisatsu rang true, and the Orochi was finally destroyed. At last, the wrath under the mountain was abated, and the lands thereabout could know peace.

  Gintaro, seeing that he was at last victorious, collapsed where he stood. When the Orochi died, and the energy sustaining the creature finally faded away, the massive corpse began to evaporate and rise like a noxious cloud. It left no trace of itself, not even bone, skin, or scale. All it left behind was one thing, and even below the earth, it shimmered as if held up to the midday sun.

  “The Sword of the Emperor!” Gintaro gasped. He began to scratch and claw his way forward. He strained himself, using the very last of his power to drag his body towards the blade. Reaching out with a bloody hand, his fingers felt the hilt, still pristine after years of being in the belly of the monster. His fingers pulled the sword towards him, and then his hand lightly grasped it. He smiled faintly as his eyes closed. He had done it. He had won.

  And though the songs and tales were mere speculation, there was one witness who observed the battle in full. He stood high upon the stairway but had the perfect view from which to see the struggle. He, too, wore a magatama. He, too, bore blackened blades.

  Sometime later, Gintaro opened his eyes once again. How long he had been out for, not even he could begin to guess. It took him some time to gather himself. He was in more pain than he ever had been in his life, and his head pounded from thirst and hunger.

  Slowly, he began to regain his thoughts.

  “Where am I?” he wondered. “Have I died?” He considered this for some time. “No. I am at the bottom of Mount Oboroshi. I can still feel the damp earth underneath me. Then, have I defeated the Orochi?” This was even harder to grasp, but gradually, the memories of his battle came flowing back. There were fragments, mostly of pain, some brief triumph, then at the end, his hand on the sword. “Then I retrieved the Sword of the Emperor?”

  This was enough for his consciousness to stretch out towards his limbs. His hand opened and shut, but there was nothing within it.

  “Strange,” he wondered. “I thought that I had it.” He did not contest this, for the last half of his battle with the Orochi was sheer delirium. “Perhaps I imagined it. Is it even real?”

  He moved his head and strained his vision. There was a pale light coming from somewhere nearby.

  “Light?” he wondered, and then looked down at his own magatama, which had gone completely dark.

  As if to answer his thoughts, a voice sounded from the void. “No, Gintaro, you are not dead.”

  This voice came as a shock, not just because of its existence in this place, but because Gintaro knew exactly who it was. It was more familiar to him than any other voice, save his daughter’s.

  “If I am hearing correctly, then you lie, for I hear the voice of a ghost,” Gin managed to say. “And I have indeed entered the afterlife.”

  “A ghost I am,” the voice replied. “But not in that sense.”

  Gintaro managed to summon enough power to roll and push himself up. He then sat back on his knees. He stared into the light, which was dazzling at first, but gradually faded. In the light stood a figure, a silhouette utterly familiar to him.

  “Kaze-chan,” Gintaro whispered.

  Koji Kazekiri, now known as Henji Tetsuya, indeed stood across from him, and in his right hand he held the Sword of the Emperor. His face had aged somewhat, but he still bore the features that had made him so beautiful in his youth.

  “Gin-kun,” Kaze answered. “At last, we meet again. How I have yearned for this day. Of all trials I have endured, of all sufferings I have borne, of all injuries I have sustained, none have compared to my separation from you. See, my hands tremble, and I can scarcely breathe.”

  Gintaro gazed at him for several moments and then sighed. “Yet I sense that your appearance here, of all times, is not only because you desired to see me.”

  Kaze’s face twitched, and his eyes seemed to seek to pierce him. “How long have you known that I live?”

  “Not very long. Your apprentice, Kondo Daisuke, gave me the greatest clue. ‘Beware the Fujin,’ he told me, ere he died. That was a cruel move, sending him to me.”

  “He was my final test for you,” Kaze returned, pacing slowly back and forth. “He was the best and brightest that I had ever produced, and I needed you sharp, Gin-kun. Do you not see that everything I have done was for this moment?” Kaze said this as he raised his arms, as if surrounded by a crowd in a coliseum. “Everything I’ve done was precisely for this,” he repeated, but quietly. “And you delivered, as only you could do.”

  Gintaro pushed himself up to one knee. “So, you are behind…everything?”

  At this, Kaze laughed, but it was a strange, disturbing laugh the Gin had never heard before. He shuddered at its viciousness.

  “Everything is giving me too much credit, but on the whole, yes. Where shall I start? The night we first found the ninja and the jar full of deadly creatures. Do you remember Gin-kun? That night, I did not return to Senbara, not right away. I went first to Tenma, and from that moment on, we were bonded by fate. He told me of the Shadowhand and of their origins. He knew about their designs and their motives. All things then made sense, and the stakes were far greater than I ever realized.

  You and I, we were fighting mere men, but a change was happening, a change that would turn the world upside down. I had to be a part of it. It was my destiny, and I wanted to bring you in on it too. And I would have, if not for her.”

  “Enough!” Gintaro cried, and the force of his voice shocked both men for a moment.

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  “Very well,” Kazekiri said quietly, pausing a few moments. “We both know how that went. Where it really changed, though, was the night we battled the Hoin-nen. You see, at that point, I was already set up to be the Master of a new Shadowhand, the Shin-Shadowhand, a reiteration that would be born in the New Capital, Mashige-shi. The old one had worn out its usefulness, but there was one important roadblock. The Hoin-nen himself was too great for me to overcome. Though I believed I had a chance, I had to settle with reality. And the reality was that I am an inferior swordsman to you.

  Yes, Gintaro, I shall say it at last. In a contest of swords, you were always better. But when it comes to other matters, the most important ones, I believe that I supersede even you. For you were born with a natural talent, and I have had to adapt. And in doing so, I have evolved and become greater than you shall ever hope to become. I defeated our old teacher, yes, I had to, and it showed that his religion, his precious faith, mattered little in the end.”

  This was a blow to Gintaro, but he did his best not to let it show. Kazekiri had always been ambitious, but he had also been good-hearted, valiant, and kind. This version of his old friend was a distortion, but he could also sense his power.

  “He is not lying,” Gin thought to himself. “He has indeed become great. But at what cost?”

  “So, when it came to it, I faked my death and let you overcome the Hoin-nen. After crossing blades with him, I knew that I had made the right decision, for he was the greatest swordsman of that era. Once disposed of, I could begin the work of remaking myself as the Master of the Shin-Shadowhand, and the rising daimyō’s heir, Henji Tetsuya, with no one to contest me.”

  At this, Kazekiri stopped pacing and became silent for several moments, as his mind was consumed in thought.

  “When I learned of your defeat at Yoshimitsu Castle, I wept. No, that would be unfair. I was devastated. I clawed my body and tore hair from my head. I nearly ended my life, for I was so distraught. For you represented the last shred of all I had once loved. From then on, all I had was darkness. But into darkness I descended, and I did not look back.

  It took the fool Shōgun several years before he accidentally revealed to me that he spared your life. When I heard this news, it was different. Was I happy? I do not remember now. All I knew was that by then I had been immersed in so many guises, weaving so many strategies, and I had done so much harm that I felt cold, numb.

  All you were to me was a game piece. A new piece on the board that I could use. So, I set the board and unleashed you at the right time. Taking your daughter, the last remnant of her, was all too easy. I could even hide behind the Shōgun, promising him this,” Kaze said, holding the Sword of the Emperor aloft.

  “I convinced him that he could add legitimacy to his rule, knowing all the while he would soon be dead, and that his rule would end regardless. Kondo served me well as your perfect nemesis, and your long, arduous travels made you dangerous once again.

  And at last, here you are, at the bottom of hell, and you have prevailed once again. Just as I watched you battle the Hoin-nen, so too did I watch your battle with the Orochi. Songs and poems should be written about these triumphs, but they will not be composed by me. For I had long foreseen how the story would go. It was not guaranteed, but alas, here we are. Should the credit ultimately go to the piece on the board, or to the hand that deftly moved it?”

  Gintaro suddenly finally pushed himself to his feet. He was covered in blood and the smoking remnants of the Orochi. His chest was heaving, and his veins were distended. Bands of muscle seemed to ripple with every moment. His eyes were focused, unblinking upon his old friend.

  “So, you were the one who took my daughter from me?”

  For a moment, Kazekiri hesitated, realizing that in his exultation, he might have said too much, but after considering, he doubled down.

  “It was necessary, and as you see, it has worked out perfectly.”

  Gin’s second question rumbled like a growl. “Why did you take the sword?”

  Kazekiri smiled. “Did you not hear me before, Gintaro? The Shōgun is already dead. Your deal died with him. You don’t need this sword anymore. And I will use it for much nobler purposes than the Shōgun ever dreamed. There is much that you do not understand, and I have not the time to explain it all.”

  Gintaro seemed to stagger forward as if he had taken another blow, and his face contorted with intense anger mingled with sorrow. If this were so, then the entire battle with the Orochi was for nothing. “What has come of my daughter?” he managed to say.

  Kazekiri shrugged. “To be honest, I do not know. She made some enemies during her time in the Old Capital. I cannot say if she lives or not. Yet that matters little.”

  “I don’t believe you! The Shōgun lives! Yuki lives! You are lying!”

  “I can assure you…”

  “Silence!” Gintaro roared, and his voice seemed to fill the entire cavern. Slowly, the light from his magatama began to glow. He then unsheathed his longsword and then his short sword. “Give me the sword, or I shall take it back by force.”

  “Oh dear,” Kaze said mildly. “I hoped that it would not come to this.”

  Kazekiri kept out the Sword of the Emperor, a longsword, and drew out his own shortsword at his side.

  Both faced each other with their two swords drawn. The two successors of the No Style stared into each other’s cold eyes. It felt for a moment like the old days, when the two would spar under the shade of a bamboo forest or on a hill in the pouring rain. Their teacher, Nakoto, would watch them and advise as he saw fit. They had also dueled many times in the basement of the Hayashibara, with the other members of the Kurogumi watching them, taking bets, and whispering in awe.

  Though many things felt the same, there were undeniable differences. Here, they wielded naked steel instead of wooden sticks, and the energy between them could not be more opposite. This was not just a battle of friends, or of brothers, but of rivals. It was also a battle of beliefs, of wills, and of fates.

  The Fujin and the Raijin slowly shifted into battle stances. For several moments, they remained like this, reading each other, and pushing back old memories that rose to the surface. Then, in a heartbeat, the fight began.

  Unlike Gintaro’s struggle with the Orochi, this was a duel of swordsmen. The successive and almost musical clash of swords beating against each other echoed throughout the great cavern. The speed at which the two moved was dazzling, and the sound of their clashes was an impossible noise.

  Kazekiri was astonished that his old friend was managing to put up a fight, after all he had just gone through. At the same time, he wanted to test the Sword of the Emperor, and there was no greater trial than Masaki Gintaro, a true prodigy of the blade. The sword was light and well balanced, and it seemed but a fraction longer than his own. While his old blade had been tinted black, the Sword of the Emperor was a bright blade, and it seemed to take in the light of his magatama and shine it outwards. It felt as if he were wielding a kind of firebrand, and even the blade itself gave off a strange kind of warmth. He was pleased with it and vowed never to let it be parted from him.

  However, as each successive moment wore on, Kazekiri sensed something wholly unexpected. Gintaro seemed to be getting stronger and faster if that were possible. A tinge of fear began to grip him, who had assumed his rival might have one last burst within him, before fizzling out due to exhaustion.

  Gintaro did not fizzle out. Instead, it seemed as if his fire was burning brighter. He swung his swords as if driven by an unseen taskmaster. His eyes glinted in the light of the Emperor’s Sword. His mouth opened as if in ecstasy, and a power emanated from within him.

  “Enough!” Kaze cried, forcing himself to dig deeper. He had not been ready for this kind of test, but it did not mean he was defeated. He pushed himself to reach his next level, and then a level beyond that, and as he moved, it seemed like a gale followed him.

  The two fought at an even higher plane than before, but neither seemed to take clear advantage. They knew each other too well, and remembered each other’s subtle tells, small acts or movements that gave away what they were thinking or what they would do.

  On and on it went, strike after strike, parry after parry. It seemed as if the battle would never end, or end in a stalemate. The two were like mirror images of each other, though opposite in all else. It might have gone on this way, but for one fateful difference.

  The Sword of the Emperor, with each successive blow, began to gain a strange heat. It had done so in increments, but as the two swordsmen were near perfect and moved with blinding speed, the heat surely began to build. Soon it became so hot that it started to glow, faintly at first, but perceptibly.

  Neither warrior could understand why this was happening, nor what it could mean for the battle. They kept on fighting, every fiber of their being consumed by the toll of the duel. Yet the sword continued to glow, and it grew intensely hot, so that it began to burn the air as it cut through it.

  Gintaro was forced to rethink his strategy, for the sword was becoming not only blinding but painful to even block.

  Kaze smiled and augmented his assault, seeing that this sword could be useful in more ways than he had anticipated.

  The duel raged on, and the Emperor’s Sword continued to intensify until it was burning even its wielder. Sweat poured down from Kaze’s brow, and his hand throbbed with pain, but he did not let up. He charged forward with a sudden surge of energy, and Gintaro parried this with his own longsword, but in that moment, something unexpected occurred.

  Gintaro’s blade, forged many years ago by the mysterious Morifuji Tenjin, which had grown incredibly sharp during his many trials, cracked and then shattered upon impact. Dust fragments of the sundered blade burst outwards, and both men had to shield themselves from the explosion.

  Kaze managed to recover first from the recoil and attacked again, this time bringing his blade down upon the fallen Gintaro. Gin’s shortsword came forth at just the right moment, but again, the Emperor’s Sword bit into the blade and shattered it into glittering particles.

  By then, the heat from the Emperor’s sword was mostly diminished, for in destroying Gintaro’s blades, much of its internal energy had been released.

  However, this left Kazekiri standing over his fallen rival, as his chest heaved in and out with exhilaration. He had won.

  Gintaro was still reeling from the loss of his faithful swords, and it took him a few moments to realize his dire plight. Suddenly, a grave expression crossed his face, and he understood his utter defeat. His head fell back, and the pieces of his sword hilt that remained tumbled from his grasp. It was over.

  “Yes!” Kazekiri cried, his voice full of exhaustion. “At last! You are defeated! You fool! You thought you could really defeat me as you are? You cannot understand what I have done, what I have sacrificed to get here! I am beyond you, Gintaro! Do you understand? Now you shall lose your life by this sword, the very sword you nearly gave your life to attain!”

  Kaze took the Sword of the Emperor and pointed it directly towards his rival’s throat, and the warm blade seemed to redden the skin around Gin’s strap muscles.

  The fury in Gintaro’s eyes had faded, and he did not try to resist. He was sprawled upon his back, and he merely gazed up at Kazekiri, his former friend, his older brother, with a strange expression. It was as if he saw someone other than a man about to slay him. It seemed as if he saw something that gladdened his heart.

  “Kaze-chan,” Gin said, his voice raspy against the edge of the sword. “I hope one day you have a family of your own. It was my favorite part of this life. But you know, the part of it I liked just as much? It was the time I spent with you.”

  With this, the defeated swordsman exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. He was not dead but overthrown by exhaustion. He breathed heavily, and his facial features relaxed into a faint smile, as if he were dreaming of some pleasant image.

  Kazekiri’s hands began to shake. He was beyond fury, beyond rage. He had wanted to slay Gintaro in the heat of battle so that he could look back at this achievement as his finest moment. Now, all the glory had been stripped away, and he was left with the choice of murdering his old comrade, sleeping like a babe, or leaving him be.

  Many minutes Kaze stood over his rival, wrestling with this decision. Such a choice was almost as difficult as the battle itself, and he went back and forth, unable to see what outcomes each choice might have.

  The Sword of the Emperor was indeed powerful, but as Kaze pressed the sword further into Gintaro’s skin, it almost seemed to shrink away from the blood it produced.

  “Why is this so difficult?”

  With a swift movement, Kaze suddenly lifted his blade high and then, with a seamless motion, brought it down next to the head of his old friend.

  “Many sins have been laid upon me,” he said at last. “Many sins I must pay for. But let it never be said that Koji Kazekiri was wholly evil. That, at least, cannot be. I cast you free of my board, Gintaro. If you manage to survive, you may play as you wish. But know this, from this time forward, you are no longer my brother. And if you dare to cross blades with me again, I shall destroy you without remorse.”

  With that, Kazekiri stepped away from the body of his rival, turned about, and began the long stairway back to the entrance. With him went the light of his magatama, and Gintaro remained behind, buried in darkness.